


Listen

by buttercups3



Series: May Your Days be Porny and Bright [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Militia days, Miloe being good dogs, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surprisingly, Bass likes it gentle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sasha_b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/gifts).



> Prompter: sasha_b  
> Prompt: Bass/Miles - surprisingly, Bass likes it gentle.
> 
> Sasha knows how to get my OTP knickers in a knot.

_Philadelphia 6 Years After the Blackout_

Miles’ unshorn face is half buried in brittle pillow. All pillows feel scratchier since the Blackout. Like the darkness consumed all the really comfortable places to lay your head in the world, so you’re left to nuzzle uncivilized straw.

His bedroom door _creeks_ open, a ripple of candlelight into another dimension where there is still warmth and human life. Miles’ room, alternately, is empty and freezing, and he refuses to extract anything more than his chin from his bedding-cocoon to address his intruder. It’s only Bass anyway.

In a moment, the chilly, goosefleshed-expanse of Bass is beside him. No matter how you might want to romanticize it, naked man on man is all stiff hair and dry, cracked skin - some parts pointy and hard and other parts (the crucial bit) soft and chicken-necky. And yet, nothing feels more like home. Miles rolls over to tuck his face into the L of Bass’ shoulder and neck, and Bass presses his lips against Miles’ crown in answer. Suddenly, Bass singes Miles’ ankle with a frozen foot.

“Ak!” Miles protests.

“Sorry, my feet are freezing.”

“S’ok,” Miles mumbles, allowing his bedfellow to thaw icy soles against his calves.

“You’re so warm.”

Well, Miles has been working on it. It’s got to be in the 30s in here.

Just as Miles feels his chestnut mare, Zeppelin, sinking into the mud, Bass whispers:

“You asleep?”

Miles grunts himself awake. “Nope.”

“Want to…?”

Without hesitation, Miles rolls over onto Bass, kneeing apart his legs and settling there. “Hi,” he exhales in Bass’ face.

“Hi.”

Now here’s the thing that (Miles likes to pretend) no one knows but him: Bass is crass and violent and egotistical, but when it comes to sex, he likes it gentle. Sure he’ll take it measured out in stolen dry humpings like they had to in the Marines or ground against the prickly-pine carpet of the Carolinas when they wandered northward, never knowing when their hearts might stop like the lights had gone black.

But Bass prefers to _make love_ , and Miles prefers to give Bass what he wants, even if it often ends with Miles pulling out and roughing himself up a bit extra. Because the way you like it is kind of, well, the essence of you isn’t it? Or so Miles thinks. And his essence doesn’t like himself very much.

Miles douses his fingers in spit and reaches for the place where Bass’ flesh caves to vulnerable pucker – coaxing. He tries to imagine the lake-clear blueness of Bass’ eyes in the dark, while he listens to Bass suck in air and sigh.

“Do you know what I spent six hours doing today, Miles? Fucking parceling out unclaimed land on the western border. I actually cracked a history textbook on the 1862 Homestead Act to see if it would help. And then I thought about using the corner of it to poke out my eyes. We’re so fucking in this over our heads.”

Miles frowns and pushes in his index finger up to the first knuckle, probing for prostate.

Miles can feel Bass wince, as he continues, “I mean, who am I – fucking Abraham Lincoln?” He snorts like this is hilarious. “‘Cept my first lady is way hotter. Uh,” he moans, because Miles has presumably found that blobby little organ of ecstasy.

So the other (less romantic) thing about having sex with Bass is he talks a lot. (And occasionally compares you to Mary Todd Lincoln.)

Bass begins again, “All these subjects with their constant demands-”

“Bass. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

“Miles, if you had your way, all anyone would ever do is listen, and then there’d be nothing left to listen _to_.”

“Hmph,” Miles grunts, really working Bass open now. Bass’ head lolls on the pillow, and Miles kisses along the scruffy jawline. “I hear plenty.”

“Yeah? And what would I hear if I listened like you?”

“The gorgeous fucking sound of you giving it up,” Miles answers without thinking; then his cheeks burn. Well…this is why he doesn’t say much, especially during sex. He embarrasses himself. “Hand me that pillow,” he tries to recover.

“So you can smother me with it?”

Miles rasps a little laugh. Bass hands it down, and once Miles has positioned it under Bass’ hips, Miles slides just the head of his penis into Bass.

“Ok?” Miles pauses to ask. He feels Bass bear down, welcoming in the hard length.

“It’s fucking stressful, man. I need a vacation – but when could that happen? We’re _it_ for this shit-streak of a country. I mean, we’re in for a lifetime of no breaks.”

It’s not that Miles doesn’t understand Bass’ frustration; it’s that he’s got his dick half-buried in Bass’ butt, throbbing for attention. He covers Bass’ lips with his own, sucking the bottom lip.

“Time to listen, Bass.”

“Uh,” Bass squeaks as Miles carefully prods prostate with the blunt of his dick.

“S’good, right?” Miles smiles against the lips, thrusting now, slowly, deeply. He keeps it tender, though his cock is near bursting. His brain liquefies, as all the blood in his body thunders southward.

Miles licks his fingers and reaches down for the soft, limp dick getting squashed against his stomach.

“Ungf,” Bass whimpers at the new sensation and begins to harden again in Miles' fingers.

Miles times his yanks with his thuds, and at last, Bass lapses into lip-biting silence. Parting Bass’ locked lips with his tongue, Miles kisses deeply, claims his boyfriend, strokes his cheek with his free hand.

“Uhhhh.” There it is – the perfect sound of Bass giving it up. Warm cum dribbles over Miles' fingers, as he drinks in one final kiss.

Then, he pulls out and begin viciously wringing himself, knuckles turning white, until he feels one of Bass’ hands cover his own to stay him. Miles freezes, still hanging over Bass.

“I know you think you need that, but it hurts even to watch. Just…let me. Listen to _yourself_ for once.”

Pushing his hand against Miles’ chest to flip him onto his back, Bass attentively kisses the dent in Miles’ clavicle. His touch is so light on Miles' raw dick that he feels like he’ll never come, but after a while, his muscles start to loosen and something gives. Warmth spreads peculiarly upward from his balls, and without warning, he seizes again and again in Bass’ gentle hand.

With a sigh, Bass rests his cheek in Miles' armpit and lets the spent cock soften in his warm, comforting grasp.

“For the record, you sound gorgeous when you come, too,” Bass mumbles.


End file.
